


Impact

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 13:28:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1820119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>it’s late and you can’t sleep, because you’re terrified of the future and sad about the situation you’re stuck in. In that 3 AM delirium you decide to send a tweet to the only person who’d never let you down and you open up the official Captain America twitter. So you send a tweet, knowing it’ll get lost in the flood of well-wishers and critics. </em><br/>But then, when you’re at your absolute lowest, something miraculous happens; Steve tweets you back to say he’s proud of you. Proud that you’re doing your best despite the odds, for finding the strength to get up in the morning and surviving the day. <br/>Steve telling you to not hurt yourself, because he knows just how fragile bodies can be.<br/>Steve asking you not to kill yourself, because life is precious and sometimes the knowledge that he might be able to save one is what gets him up in the morning.<br/>Steve Rogers doing his best to protect you, even against the monsters in your head.<br/>{<a href="http://jjjat3am.tumblr.com/post/86164819753/i-know-theres-been-a-lot-of-steve-on-social">inspiration/summary source</a>}</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impact

**Author's Note:**

> This is entirely based upon the post linked above in the summary and was written for my very good friend Brii.

For a really long time, Stiles wasn’t too keen on social media outside of the convenience of getting information on classmates through some intense facebook stalking. He just didn’t see the point, since the only person he ever really talked to was always Scott, and they barely spent any time apart. Really, if it weren’t for their parents disallowing sleepovers on school nights after the  one  time they both overslept and missed half the day, he and Scott would’ve been inseparable for every single moment of every single day. But all of that was before Scott was bitten, and definitely before Stiles was possessed by a demon, and Allison died.

Now, he took to tumblr, twitter, facebook, even instagram, like a moth to a flame. Tumblr meant things that he enjoyed, movies and celebrities and funny cat videos that could distract him from the noise in his head. It was like silence and a million voices all at once, and he was struggling to drown them out. He made an instagram to take a million pictures of his friends and himself so that they could have dumb happy things to focus on, and so that every single memory would be available to be cherished. (Just in case.) On facebook, he added people he never thought he would, including reaching out to Jackson and Isaac, both of whom were living in Europe now; regardless of the depth — or lack thereof— of their friendships, it was important that he know they were all right. Even if it was through selfies and dumb lyric statuses.

And twitter was maybe,  _possibly_  maintained for one reason only. Steve Rogers, aka Captain freaking America, had a twitter. He didn’t seem to tweet very often, and appeared to be mostly nocturnal based on the timestamps on his quips, but it made Stiles feel grounded, knowing that someone like Steve Rogers was on twitter, talking about dumb things like what he had for breakfast, the punching bag he just broke, accidentally filling Tony Stark’s sugar shaker with salt, and constantly out-running Sam Wilson.

Whenever Stiles felt like his life was a living nightmare and had trouble distinguishing reality from a dream, terrified he was trapped within his own body again, he’d open his laptop, pop over to twitter, and read Steve’s tweets. Most of them were mundane things, but a few were quick little “hang in there” tweets, or replies to people who sent him nice things, telling them they’re as important as he is. He pretends the tweets are to him, and it gives him a warm, glowy feeling inside. Somehow, he feels safe, as though Captain America is at his side that very instant, his shield protecting Stiles from all the bad things in the world.

One night, when things get particularly bad, Stiles, out of desperation, tweet-vomits his feelings to Steve.

**@StevenGRogers** _I’m sorry to bother you, but I’ve been having a lot of trouble lately. Some shit went down recently, and I honestly can’t_  
 **@StevenGRogers** _seem to shake this feeling that everyone’s lives would be better off without me. I’m too much of a reminder of all the bad_  
 **@StevenGRogers** _things that happened to everyone. Most of it was my fault to be honest, and I just…don’t see the point in anything anymore._  
 **@StevenGRogers** _Anyway, sorry to bother you. You probably have better things to do than listen to me whine. It’s just that normally when I’m_  
 **@StevenGRogers** _feeling this way I’ll read your twitter to cheer myself up. It’s just…not working tonight, I guess…_

Stiles sighs and closes his computer before he shies away and deletes the tweets; the initial reason he set up twitter in the first place was to have a place to vent. Following Steve was really just an added bonus. He plugs in his phone, lies down on top of his bedclothes, and tries to sleep, staring up at his ceiling and focusing on the rattling of the dishwasher in the kitchen downstairs. A couple of hours later, just as he’s about to shut his eyes, his phone lights up, illuminating precisely where he was staring above his bed. Confused, he rolls over and grabs it off his bedside table, and glances at the screen; it nearly falls from his hands when he reads the banners continuing to appear upon it.

**Mentioned by @StevenGRogers:** _@StilesStilinski_ _I hope you’re still around to read my reply. I know it took me a couple of hours, but would you believe I was actually in a_  
 **Mentioned by @StevenGRogers:** _@StilesStilinski_ _top secret, very important meeting? That’s not just a line, I promise. Anyhow, Stiles, I really do hope you’re still here_  
 **Mentioned by @StevenGRogers** : _@StilesStilinski_ _to read my probably horrible attempt at talking you down. I may not know you personally, and you might see me and not be_   
**Mentioned by @StevenGRogers** : _@StilesStilinski_ _able to see past the uniform and public image, but underneath all that, I’m really still just that tiny guy from Brooklyn._  
 **Mentioned by @StevenGRogers** : _@StilesStilinski_ _I don’t know precisely the details of whatever you’ve gone through, and it’s up to you if you decide to share them with me_  
 **Mentioned by @StevenGRogers:** _@StilesStilinski_ _but I’m sure you know a few of mine. For example, I believed it was honestly my fault what happened to Bucky. I never_   
**Mentioned by @StevenGRogers:** _@StilesStilinski_ _stopped blaming myself, even when we found him again all these years later. Realistically, I know now that it’s not really_  
 **Mentioned by @StevenGRogers** : _@StilesStilinski_ _my fault. But I still feel that guilt. Every damn day. And when it hits me the worst, I wish I really still was that little_  
 **Mentioned by @StevenGRogers** : _@StilesStilinski_ _guy. Because then I could do everyone a kindness and disappear. And do you know what keeps me from doing anything stupid?_  
 **Mentioned by @StevenGRogers** : _@StilesStilinski_ _You. You and everyone else out there who asks me for advice or looks to me for inspiration. Not because you validate my_  
 **Mentioned by @StevenGRogers** : _@StilesStilinski_ _existence, but because, for whatever reason, I can validate yours. All my life I seem to be fighting. I fight so that you_  
 **Mentioned by @StevenGRogers:** _@StilesStilinski_ _and anyone else out there in the world who feels unsafe can feel just that tiny bit protected. I wish I could protect you_  
 **Mentioned by @StevenGRogers** : _@StilesStilinski_ _from the voices in your head, but since I still battle my own, I don’t know that I can help. But I wanted you to know that_  
 **Mentioned by @StevenGRogers** : _@StilesStilinski_ _you are not alone in this. Even people like me feel this way. I hope that knowledge makes you feel a little more okay in_  
 **Mentioned by @StevenGRogers:** _@StilesStilinski_ _your skin, and helps you be okay. Please be okay, Stiles. The world needs you, whether you believe it or not._

Stiles stares at his phone, feeling an odd mixture of shock, awe, and horror. He can’t believe Steve Rogers, THE Steve Rogers, Captain FUCKING America not only read his miserable tweets, but replied in about fifty of his own. Part of him wants to laugh fondly at the fact that Steve followed Stiles’s lead and just sent a thousand separate tweets instead of using TwitLonger, but the rest of him realizes it probably took a lot for Steve to even set up a twitter in the first place. He rereads the tweets several times before responding nearly fifteen minutes after the last tweet was sent to him.

**@StevenGRogers** _I’m still here. I…I can’t believe you actually responded. Like, you didn’t just read them and like, favorite them or whatever_   
**@StevenGRogers** _you actually wrote me like, a novel. and damn on the one hand, you should be a motivational speaker. but like, on the other_   
**@StevenGRogers** _hand…I do appreciate what you said. I really do. I just wish I could believe you._

He shakes his head, wondering when he became this person that unloaded their feelings on a total stranger, but he barely has a second to think about it before Steve is replying again.

**@StilesStilinski** _I know it seems far-fetched, that I could say something like this about someone I’ve never met and still know it to be true_   
**@StilesStilinski** _but I do. I know it’s true._

A few more seconds pass, and Stiles gapes as he gets a new notification.

**@StevenGRogers “Captain America” just followed you!**

**Direct Message: @StevenGRogers:** _Sorry, I figured a direct message was the best route. I know you probably don’t believe a total stranger, even if he IS Captain America. And_  
 **@StevenGRogers:** _like I said, I don’t really know everything that happened to you or what you went through. In fact…_  
 **@StevenGRogers:** _Your bio says you’re from Beacon Hills, CA. I can be there tomorrow afternoon. Where is a good place to meet?_

At this point, Stiles honestly isn’t even sure he’s breathing anymore. He half wants to call Scott or Lydia and tell them what’s going on, or to text Danny and have him trace Steve’s twitter to make sure it’s him, as though the little blue verification checkmark could possibly be a lie. His heart is hammering near what feels like the bottom of his stomach, and his forehead has begun to perspire. Fingers shaking, he taps out a response.

**Direct Message: @StilesStilinski:** _Holy shit. Are you serious? Holy shit. You really…? Uh. There’s uh a bowling alley? Or like, there’s a mall. Um. Fuck. You’re serious?  
_

**Direct Message: @StevenGRogers:** _I’m serious. A bowling alley sounds good. What time should we meet?_

**Direct Message: @StilesStilinski:** _HOLY FUCK. Sorry. I just…shit. Sorry, sorry. Um. Does 4pm work for you?_

**Direct Message: @StevenGRogers:** _4 is great. I’ll be the guy who’s…Captain America, I guess._

**Direct Message: @StilesStilinski:** _I…okay. Okay. Tomorrow. The bowling alley. 4pm. You’re really…this is really…ok._

**Direct Message: @StevenGRogers** :  _Get some sleep Stiles. I’ll see you tomorrow._

* * *

The next day, Stiles wakes around one in the afternoon and is convinced he dreamt the entire conversation, and skeptically pulls his phone out to check. When he does, he sees that all the tweets are there, and are very, very real. If it’s to be believed, Steve Rogers is on his way to meet Stiles. At a bowling alley. To talk. Captain America. Is on his way to Beacon Hills. It’s a real thing that’s happening in Stiles’s real life. After a near-panic attack at the idea of meeting his hero who is a literal, honest-to-god-movies-are-made-about-him superhero, Stiles forces himself out of bed and into the shower. Which is followed by another twenty minutes assuring himself that he’s not only awake, but that the messages from Steve are real. The next hour is spent deciding what to wear.

Eventually, Stiles makes his way over to the bowling alley and parks his jeep directly in front of the main entrance. He fiddles with the radio, pulls out his phone, and rereads the tweets again before realizing how stupid he’s being. 

_“Get it together, Stilinski. Clearly you’ve established the tweets are real. Whether or not Captain America shows up is not up to you. Just go inside, get a coke, and **chill** ,”_ he says to his reflection in his rearview, his tone harsh. He shakes his head and climbs out of the car, heading inside, and doing precisely what he just coached himself in. A quick scan of the place tells him he’s one of only a few people there, and he picks a table near the farthest lane, sitting facing toward the door.

Not two minutes after Stiles sits down, the doors open, and in walks a guy in a hoodie, snapback, and glasses; his hood is pulled up over the cap, which Stiles thinks is redundant, and he’s pretty sure he’s never seen this guy around, but he also seems too meek to possibly be Steve Rogers, so he turns his attention back to the growing ringlet of water surrounding his glass. Just as he begins to trace patterns in the moisture, the guy in the hoodie is standing at his side.

“Stiles?” he asks tentatively.

Stiles nearly falls off his stool as he stands up and his mouth goes dry — he’s looking straight into the hesitant face of Captain America. “Holy shit you really —”

The rest of his words are cut off as Steve’s arms instantly wrap around him, and Stiles freezes for a full ten seconds before he returns the embrace. Steve’s voice is muffled as he talks, his face pressed down into Stiles’s shoulder.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t show up, or you wouldn’t believe me, or what I said to you wasn’t going to be enough and that I would be too late,” he says in a rush, pulling back and taking off the hat and hood. He leaves the glasses on, and Stiles wonders if they’re meant to be a disguise; it worked on him, so he figures Steve’s good.

“Uh, well, I definitely almost stayed home. And I wasn’t one hundred percent convinced you’d actually come. But, dude, what you said…” he trails off and looks down, his face flush. “It would’ve been enough. Y’know, if you hadn’t come. What you said would’ve been enough.”

Steve sits and Stiles slides him the extra coke he ordered just in case; Steve takes an appreciative sip and smiles gently. “So. I’ve booked a hotel for a few nights. We don’t have to talk about everything today. Hell, you don’t have to tell me anything at all. We can just bowl if you like, or go for a drive, or a run, or whatever it is you do for fun and to let loose.”

They wind up playing a few games, heading into the arcade and challenging each other there, and heading out for a drive around town. Stiles shows him the reserve, the warehouse district, the school…by the time they’re done, he’s already lied to his dad and said he’s going to be staying at Scott’s, also shooting a text to Scott and getting him to corroborate. Scott doesn’t ask questions, since he knows sometimes Stiles just drives at night to try and clear his head. For a long while, he and Steve drive in silence, before Stiles finally begins to talk.

He talks for hours and hours, starting with meeting Scott for the first time, his mother’s passing, Scott’s dad leaving, and tells Steve everything. About Peter, about Derek, about losing so many friends. About being a nogitsune, and about feeling like it’s his fault Allison died, even though it was the demon who was controlling everything and not him. He explains the feeling of not being safe in his own mind, let alone his own body, and wonders whether there’s any way to move past everything. Steve doesn’t speak much, just nods to indicate he’s listening; at some parts, his hand finds Stiles’s and grips it tight. Others prompt him to unbuckle his seatbelt and awkwardly half-hug Stiles.

Stiles finally finishes talking, and they’re sitting in silence again, parked somewhere within the reserve, Steve’s hand gripping Stiles’s fiercely. The sun is peeking out over the woods, and they watch it rise, carrying on the silence, each of them unsure what to say. Steve doesn’t know how he can comfort Stiles, and Stiles doesn’t know if Steve even believes him. Around eight, Stiles starts the car up again and heads toward his favorite diner, offering to buy Steve breakfast. They eat in silence as well, punctured only by Steve’s continued gentle smiles and Stiles’s reluctant grips of Steve’s hand when he begins to panic. Eventually, Steve speaks.

“So…I knew I couldn’t possibly guess at what you were dealing with, but…I never thought it could be anything like that.”

“Yeah…” Stiles trails off. “Welcome to Beacon Hills?”

Steve laughs and it melts away all of the tension between them. “It’s a hell of a place.” He takes a sip of his coffee and ponders his next words. “Stiles, can I be honest with you?”

Stiles swallows his mouthful of pancake and nods.

“When I read your tweets, I thought… maybe this kid is depressed, or bullied, or both. I thought you maybe just had nobody to talk to and needed a shoulder. But…Stiles, you’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met.” He reaches out for Stiles’s hand again. “It’s clear to me that you have an incredible support system of friends, not to mention your dad and Scott’s mom. The way you talked about them last night tells me that you are  so loved. And from what you’ve said, nobody blames you. Not for Allison, not for the nogitsune, not for Scott being bitten. I promise you, your father does _not_ blame you for your mother’s death, either.”

Stiles flinches, and Steve tightens his grip on his hand. “He doesn’t. No father could be as loving and supportive of their son while also blaming them for something that in no shape or form was his fault. It’s just not possible, Stiles.” He grins when Stiles nods weakly. “You are loved and supported and are clearly so important to so many people. The waitress knew your order, for chrissake. _It doesn’t matter how small your impact is as long as it’s positive._ And I told you I’d be honest with you. I know you now, at least the important pieces. You are so brave, and strong, and important. If I could be here everyday to tell you that, I would.”

Steve falls quiet and Stiles continues to stare at his food, trying to formulate a response. “I think…if there wasn’t conclusive proof that you’d been stuck in the ice for seventy-some-odd years, I’d be sure that you and Scott were somehow related. Everything you said is something he’d probably say.”

“Well, then, I’ll have to meet Scott and tell him to keep it up,” Steve says lightly.

“You should, actually. Meet him, that is. Do you want to?”

Steve gently pulls his hand away from Stiles’s and resumes eating his abandoned eggs. “I’d love to. I’d like to meet all of them actually. Who knows, maybe Captain America is a good card to have up your sleeve in case Peter tries anything again,” he adds with a wink.

* * *

  
Steve winds up staying in Beacon Hills for two weeks. He gets to know every single person that’s important in Stiles’s life, and finds he gets along with nearly all of them in some capacity. He, the Sheriff, and Chris Argent bond over losing the people they cared about dearly, and talk shop about trying to keep people safe as a full time job. The Sheriff walks away with a newfound pride in his occupation, and Chris walks away feeling a little less broken despite his heavy losses.

Steve and Derek spend their time together talking about the unease of forced leadership and their desire to be little more than mentors; Steve helps Derek understand some things about the teens that he hadn’t quite grasped, and Derek helps Steve riddle out some stuff about dealing with Tony and Natasha. They spend a few days sparring, and Steve is incredibly impressed by Derek’s healing abilities as well as his skill in hand-to-hand combat. He ponders inviting him to join the team before realizing that Tony may have a conniption at decisions being made without him.

Lydia and Kira are content to just talk about nonsense things with Steve, their conversations ranging from the style of the forties, to fighting the Nazis, and even to his delivery of painstaking descriptions of precisely how Clint Barton looks when he’s just walked out of the shower. Most of the time, Steve is blushing, but Lydia and Kira are more at ease than they’ve been in weeks, at least according to everyone else.

Despite the amount of time spent with everyone, most of his time is with Stiles, Scott and Melissa, in various combinations. He quickly comes to understand the bond between Stiles and Scott, and finds himself immensely grateful to have a confidante in Melissa. The two talk about Stiles, the difficulties he’s overcome, and each promises the other to always do whatever is in his best interest. Scott pulls Steve aside one day under the guise of asking for help with snacks while Stiles picks a movie, and as soon as they enter the kitchen, Steve finds himself on the receiving end of a firm hug. He’s quick to return it, and they stand there like that for nearly a minute.

Scott pulls back and delivers a blinding smile. “Thank you for everything, man. I have a feeling Stiles never would’ve told me everything he was feeling if you hadn’t come and told him everything was all right. He’s my best friend, my brother, and I try to do my best. I really do. But everything lately…it’s been so crazy. And so much. And we’ve all been trying to cope. I guess I just forgot that the first person the nogitsune attacked was Stiles.”

Steve smiles sadly. “Have I told you the story of the guy who invented the super soldier serum yet?” Scott shakes his head, and Steve continues. “His name was Doctor Abraham Erskine. He was working for a secret operations unit in the US Army in World War II, attempting to develop a serum that would turn an ordinary man into a super, enhanced being. His superiors wanted him to choose a man who was already the exemplary model of a soldier, but Doctor Erskine insisted he choose instead someone who was pure of heart.”

Scott motions for Steve to follow him to the fridge, and he starts piling food into his arms, which Steve then deposits on the counter. As they work, he keeps talking. “He chose me, he said, because I didn’t want to kill anyone. Not even the Nazis. I told him that I didn’t like bullies, no matter where they came from. And the night before the procedure, he and I were talking more, this time about the fact that he himself was a German. And he said something to me that changed my perspective on the war entirely.  _So many people forget that the first country the Nazis invaded was their own._ It’s like you said about Stiles. Nobody thinks about the first invasion. They just think about the overall fallout.”

Scott gets a look on his face that shows the overwhelming guilt he’s been feeling ever since Stiles filled him in on everything going on, and Steve reaches out for his shoulder. “I’m not saying that you made a mistake. I’m just saying…sometimes you have to take a step back to understand everything. You remind me a lot of Doctor Erskine, Scott. And he was one of the best men I knew.”

* * *

The day Steve leaves Beacon Hills, Stiles is so upset and withdrawn that Scott begins to seriously worry. He calls everyone up, and they all gather at the Stilinski house, ordering pizza and opening more than a few bottles of soda. Scott drags Stiles to the couch, and they pile on, putting a cheesy comedy on the tv and passing around the pizza boxes. They’re quiet except for their laughter at the movie, and slowly, Stiles becomes more himself. Just before the film ends, his phone rings, and the look on his face tells everyone it’s Steve.

He puts it on speaker, and Steve talks to everyone, tells them how much he already misses them all, and how glad he is that he took the time to visit Beacon Hills. Finally, Scott asks the question everyone had been wondering the whole time.

“Don’t get me wrong, Steve, but…why  _did_ you come?”

They hear Steve laugh on the other end of the line, and each of them can picture the precise face he’s making as the sound escapes him. “I guess…I just really knew what it was like. To feel that way. Before I was Captain America, I was just Steve Rogers. And if it wasn’t for one single important person in my life — I guess you could call him my very own Scott McCall,” he says, laughing again, this time in response to the hums of approval he hears from the pack. “If it wasn’t for Bucky, I probably wouldn’t have even lived to _become_ Captain America. My mom died shortly after my dad, and I was just this tiny guy who couldn’t enlist, let alone gather scrap metal in some local junkyard without risking death. Bucky made me see that I mattered, and he was the reason I kept going.”

Steve pauses, and Scott wraps his arm around Stiles. “Thank you, Steve,” he says quietly. “For saving my brother when I couldn’t.” Stiles leans into Scott’s side and chokes back the sounds trying to escape, though he can’t blink back his tears fast enough.

“It was really no problem, Scott,” Steve says kindly, his voice breaking up over the connection. “I guess I just saw an opportunity to be the guy Bucky always believed I was.”

They all exchange heartfelt thanks and secondary goodbyes, and Steve promises to visit again as soon as he can, while also extending the opportunity for them to visit him at Tony’s house any time they like. “And Stiles?”

“Yeah?” Stiles says, taking the phone off speaker and holding it to his ear as he walks away, even though nearly everyone in the room will be able to hear whatever Steve says no matter how close he stands to the rattling washing machine.

“When you visit — when, not if, because you absolutely have to — we’ll go to dinner. Just you and me. If…if you want to.”

“Why, Captain America,” Stiles says in a faux-shocked voice. “Are you asking me out?”

Steve laughs, rich, full, and booming. “I guess I am. The twenty first century and I’m still no good at this.”

“You’re fine,” Stiles assures him. “And I’d love to.” They say goodbye again, and Stiles hangs up and heads back toward his friends, all of whom are staring determinedly at the television, fighting matching smiles. He settles back into the couch next to Scott, and for the first time in a long time, he feels safe in his own skin.


End file.
